


Like earth longing for rain

by Azure_Mischief



Category: Sesame Street (TV), Sesame Street - Worldwide, Улица Сезам | Sesame Street (Russia TV)
Genre: Belly love - slightly implied, F/M, Fluff, Human/Monster Romance, Love, Monsters, POV First Person, Spirits, Vore - slightly implied, fictional anatomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azure_Mischief/pseuds/Azure_Mischief
Summary: ...you'd been missing me, Zeli.
Kudos: 2





	Like earth longing for rain

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of chosen texts from many, many, many love letters to Zeli turned into a fanfic.  
> Do I hesitate? Not even a bit. There'll be more with time, they just need to get translated from Russian.  
> Hope there's not many mistakes, hadn't been practicing English for a good while. Enjoy :)
> 
> Zeliboba the Dvorovoi ("dvorovoi" means literally "(he) of the yard", for he's a guardian spirit of a courtyard/playground) is (c) "Ulitsa Sezam" / Sesame Workshop.  
> The narrator is... your truly :)

I’d so let all this clear summer sky, along with its swallows, winds and clouds, beneath your pelt: the birds chirp as they fly, as if they really touch someone’s raw nerves, and their chirps, each one, are sweet impulses the touched nerves respond with. _Swallows in your blood._ Maybe they already _are_ in you and I only now managed to guess it.

I'll show your entire self to you entirely, just give me time: who ever told you just **_how handsome_** you are.

No one. Had. Ever. Kissed you. In the muzzle. Like **_that_**.

Between your eyes. On your lips. Nuzzling against your blue whiskers.

_Let’s pretend, says the dvorovoi, that the summer had been sleeping **inside** me all this time — I’d been sheltering and warming it, there was enough room for it and still is, check it yourself if you want to. Then he gently runs through my hair with his hand, like the summer wind: go ahead, lay your head on the fluffy warm fur._

_Okay, I agree. There’s a small **glk** heard under his fur, like from a pebble thrown into a river; and here is the river itself, probably warmed by the sun; and here comes the wind: his breath, raising waves, rocking to sleep._

I remember the time you got teased with a cookbook, and I was just _dying_ – from either sympathy, or tenderness and pride for you. My beloved spirit boy, just standing there, not even able to get his eye off the pages (in fact beautiful and rich), and only gulping hungrily. And I’m only loving you more, and even seem to see these thin sticky “strings" of drool in the corners of your mouth — and love even them, Lord, what's wrong with me, what are you doing to me, Zeliboba.

You’re ** _creating me_**.

Creating from the very beginning, and re-creating all over.

Do you even know that this is your best declaration of love?

Drool in the corners of your mouth; rain in the sun. The mouth itself being like the earth after a summer rainstorm, except that there’s nothing as big and bright crimson on earth – how would something like a dvorovoi’s tongue even happen in here?

If you nourish the earth, it will blossom.

The same is true about a dvorovoi.

I'd love to feed you from my own hands.

Silk that is your whiskers, a soft moist thing that’s your tongue, your dew-dripping mouth, my palms bathed in warmth, and us, not able to take our eyes off each other.

Even _this_ is a joy. Just the way it is.

And then I’d kiss you on the face, and feel the warmth under your sideburns.

A flush of your own magic.

And your glow.

_Let’s pretend, says Zeliboba, that I'm a summer night — it comes, hides you under its canopy and lets you go. He opens his mouth — and I'm not afraid at all: how can one even be afraid of him, he won't dissolve you._

_All right, I agree with ease – finding myself a moment later in the summer night: stars through the glimmering dark blue, a living and warm "earth" under my feet. Reach out your hand – or better yet, both of them — and stroke it. There is a chuckle outside, and the blue clings to you in response: he's stroking you through himself._

...Someone's words in certain newspaper – a long talk about what happens to a child before birth. Drain all things human as unnecessary from these words — and hear Zeliboba’s own confession whispered in your ear: “you had no idea that _I’m – all – soft – and cozy – inside_ ; I can hide you within me and be your alcove, you had no place to rest for so long; and then I’ll let you back out through my heart; just ask me about it”.

And I'm asking.

Do let me be like that trout, like those grapes, if you can. Sometimes I really envied them – In a good way, because there is no better alcove than **_your gut_**. I’d so lie down in there and not notice in my sleep that I — raise — a silky — cover — over me, and on it, calming, lays the palm of the beloved one and strokes it.

And his heart — and magic — and breath – can be heard all around you.

And if you open your eyes — you'll see

living gold and blue waves

and feel that you _are_ the trout and the grapes, the earth, the water, and life itself that is now flowing as a continuous stream through your beloved one.

And when he stretches, a low, gentle hum comes through his body, like a bass chord of an organ.

And then it feels like a wave washing over you: he strokes you with both palms.

Then he lets go of you — you are drawn to the ground — and hugs you, lovingly, protectingly. He lays down to sleep – anchored to the ground, while you enjoy his inner weightlessness.

…Then you start to flicker — and, in a moment, don't even notice that you are already **_outside_** , so gently he teleported you back.

_…And now it is summer, a summer night — and Zeliboba himself – being all **around** me. I lay my head on the dvorovoi’s chest: **is it not too hard for you?** – and he laughs: no, feels just like a river carrying a maple leaf._

_Let’s pretend, say I, that you're now like the Earth itself, still sleeping and empty, and that it's being kissed and stroked and petted – first by the moonlight, and then by the sun,_

_and the magic within you responds,_

_making the dawn glow through your sideburns_

_and lighting the stars in your eyes._

_Tiny sparks above him, just barely reaching his furry skin, turn into mountains, forests, rivers just above his hidden veins, all of it being just as tiny — because he’s only a **pretend** Earth._

_And he responds to me with his eyes alone:_

_"Thank you,_

_I flourished."_


End file.
